


Fall to Grace

by fallenwithoutgrace



Series: Fall to Grace [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:50:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenwithoutgrace/pseuds/fallenwithoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have a 'profound bond', Castiel has realised his feelings but Dean refuses to acknowledge his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Principium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Savannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savannah/gifts), [Tys](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tys).



> My debut series. Thank you to Savannah and Tyson for being my proof readers and encouraging me to better my work. I hope everyone enjoys this, and ALL feedback is encouraged... Don't be shy, I want to know. Thanks!

**(Dean Winchester POV)**

_'We cannot pass our guardian angel's bounds, resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs.' -- Saint Augustine_

"Who are you?" Dean snarled, eyes widened.

"Castiel." "Yeah I figured that, I mean, what are you?"

Castiel turned his head with a puzzled look, "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Rising to his feet, Dean shook off the curveball, "get out of here... there's no such thing."

"This is your problem Dean," Castiel replied with an intimidating glare, "you have no faith."

Castiel stood in front of Dean, sheathed in the flickering ghostly light of abrupt lightning, and in the shadows spread his raven-black wings. He was an angel. Dean compressed his fists into balls, and stuck his shoulders out in defiance.

Of course, the first thought that came into his head at the word 'angel' was Mary - Mary Winchester, his mom. She was his angel. ‘Angels are watching over you,’ she'd tell him every night before tucking him in. That was before werewolves, wendigos, and demons, before Sammy left him, before dad died, before she died. That was when Dean was an innocent child.

So there he was, the guardian angel that Mary had prayed for: Castiel. Except he was 25 years too late for that, and, just like everything else in Dean's life, this good omen was broken.

What Dean didn't need was faith. What Dean needed was Sammy to be okay, to be safe. Of course, Sammy always told him that he was 'fine', but he never believed him, he's been saying it since the first time he came face to face with a monster, he was 'fine'. But Dean heard Sam get up three times that night and check the motel room for any stray creature, he didn't sleep one minute that night. Sam had told him he was 'fine' when he first got hurt on a hunt, but Dean had found the empty bottle of aspirin two days later.

Whatever this 'angel' wanted, Dean would be damned if it involved his little brother. He'd been through too much already, losing his mom, his dad, Jess, and Dean himself; there'd be no way Sammy was going to lose anything else, if he could help it. Pamela had lost her eyes to this 'angel of the lord', if he was capable of that, what else was he capable of?


	2. Attollo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel enters hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to Savannah and Tyson!

**(Castiel POV)**

_'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.' - Oscar Wilde_

 

When Castiel first entered the pit, the first thing that struck him was the noise. Billions of souls, laid bare on racks, pinned in position by rusted barbed wire and nails, and they were howling. The pain in their yells was excruciating. Some were screaming names, and others were so deliriously in pain that their eyes were lifeless, their bodies thrashing, and continuous screeches escaping their open mouths.

Hell was a prison of bone, flesh, blood and fear.

Castiel could feel Jimmy Novak's body protesting with every sense he had. The excruciating heat engulfed his vessel like a tidal wave. The smell of burning, rotten flesh overpowering, as was the sense of evil. The souls here a mix of innocents who dabbled with powers they didn't entirely understand and the souls of humans that had done terrible deeds willingly. Those were the souls that warped over time, evaporating into terrible plumes of black smoke, leaving nothing human left: Demons.

Having focused his hearing, he began to hear the desperate pleas of "Sam! Saaaaam!" He followed the voice, the pungent smell of fear overwhelming, even for Castiel.

Once he clapped eyes on Dean, Castiel was shocked by this infamous man's eyes. The intense suffering and terror that plagued his expression left him blind of his surroundings, as Castiel approached, Dean's body began convulsing. His yells pierced the noise around him

"No, Jesus, please. PLEASE, I got off the rack, I got off the rack. I agreed. Alastair-" his protesting body pulled against its restraints, the chains broke into his flesh, and caused deep lacerations.

"Dean. Be calm, I'm not-"

"Jesus, I know I deserve it, but please, please just leave me," his voice was breathless, cracked by his weakened body.

"No, Dean. I'm not what you think-"

"No! I've never fallen for that, you black-eyed son of a bitch, so why would I now after forty years, huh?!"

"Please remain still, Dean."

Castiel sighed, hesitant about what he had to do. He had orders to make sure the man's soul was intact and if he was actually Dean Winchester, as demons were finding ever more sophisticated ways of fooling Heaven. Castiel rolled up the sleeve of his vessel’s trench coat and plunged his hand deep into Dean's chest. A fiery red light surrounded his wrist; against the agonising yelling and pleading, Castiel laid hand on his soul, absorbing his memories, his thoughts, everything. He retracted his hand, thinking there was no doubting this man. His soul was so desperately pained, so tired and stretched beyond its ability - it had taken a severe bruising in his former life and Castiel felt every last knock ten-fold. This man had seen so much and sacrificed everything he had, it shook Castiel that there was more to come.

Placing two fingers on his forehead, Dean's screams halted and he immediately fell limp.Castiel gripped him by the shoulder and ascended, feeling a heavy burden to protect Dean Winchester as best as he could. God clearly crafted him for some purpose other than to hunt the monstrous anomalies that plagued the earth.

Castiel, an angel of God, was conflicted.  The horrors this man had witnessed, the pain he'd felt, what did the archangels want with him? Would he be able to withstand more than what he'd already coped with? Castiel thought he may be a soldier of God, but Dean Winchester was a _warrior..._

 


	3. Dubium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after being resurrected, Dean is afraid to sleep and receives a visit.

**(Dean POV)**

_'Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.' - Khalil Gibran_

Sam and Bobby's snores resonated through the grubby little room that was home for that night. Dean lay wide awake, fearful of closing his eyes. The fire would be waiting under his eyelids, the smell ready to overpower him again.

He looked at his hands in the light of a street lamp outside the room, dirt from his grave was still caked under his nails. Then his head started spinning, Dean had been so set on getting back to his brother and Bobby that he hadn't stopped to think that one week ago, he was dead as a stone, that an _angel_ raised him... Castiel. 

His eyes closed momentarily as he tried to stop the spinning. Flashes of fire, plumes of sulphuric smoke plagued his senses, blood poured from his skin as if he was leaking. 

"Hello Dean." 

Dean bolted upright, cold sweat beading on his forehead, instinctively reached under his pillow for his gun and pointed in the direction of the voice, and lowered it when he saw Castiel. He rolled off the mattress, stuffing the gun under his pillow. Castiel stood by the TV set, inspecting the decor of the place.

"You know, I'd shoot but it'd be a waste of a bullet, wouldn't it?" he growled, rubbing his temples between his thumb and forefinger. 

Castiel cocked his head to one side without a reply, his eyes squinted at Dean. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"You prayed for me." came his usual questioning tone.

"No I- I was thinking." Dean frowned.

"I see." Castiel was no longer looking, he was fiddling with some nauseous motel ornament, a porcelain angel surprisingly. He seemed to find the rendition charming going by the coy smile playing on his lips. 

"Boy, you must be twiddling your thumbs up there, jumping to attention at the meer thought of your name?" Dean's tone was taunting and he knew it was probably a mistake considering he could turn and end him in less than a second, he didn't care.

"You were put in my care, Dean. Naturally I'd come when you call." 

"I don't need taking care of. I've took care of myself and Sammy since I was 6 years old!" his tone was defensive, almost snarling.

"Yes, well maybe if you hadn't had yourself dragged to hell, you'd still be taking care of yourself." 

Dean's lips pursed, eyes burning with anger. This angel had no idea what it was to put himself on the line for a brother, to love someone so selflessly that it was his instinct to _die_ for his brother. No. This robot followed orders and pissed him off. 

"You know what? Screw you Cas. Leave. I don't need you. I don't need God and I don't need heaven. I want no part in this, so leave!" his voice raised above the whisper that they'd been speaking in before and Sam's limp body stirred slightly. He lowered it back to a low, threatening whisper: 

"I'm not asking, leave. Now. Don't turn up again."

"You don't have a choice, you're in. There is no out, until God decides otherwise. Remember that." 

Before Dean had a chance to react, he'd gone. _'There is no out.'_ Dean snorted. He was never in to begin with. Screw it all. Shuffling into his dad's old jacket, he grabbed his keys and went for a drive.


	4. Domus

**(Castiel POV)**

_'The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home.' - Confucius_

Castiel, raised a soldier, was being drawn in to divine politics and in the middle of them stood Dean and Sam Winchester, the brothers that had their paths meticulously carved out for them before they were even born. 

Castiel tried to not question anything, not even when he learnt what Sam had coursing through his veins, what he was doing. Not when he was told to stay away. He kept schtum even when he longed to see Dean, missed the mockery that he secretly enjoyed. But the more he learnt, the more he resented what he had to do, the more he wanted to intervene and spare Dean his fate. But with his every move under scrutiny from the garrison, there was no room to change anything.

Heaven was no longer paradise. His family had dispersed, or they had perished. The angels in command were elusive in their grand plans. Everyone was a loose end, weary of the oncoming storm they sensed. The meticulous way in which Castiel was kept in the dark, though he was central in the scheme was disorientating. 

Since he was brought in to the world, he'd watch humanity develop and compared it to heaven and saw war, family disputes, and love. He'd heard the prayers of men with failing hearts, pleading with God. 'Please, please save me.' and they died anyway. He'd seen good, devout souls stumble on bad times and watched as those souls climbed out of the pit, distorted and evil. 'A Captain goes down with his ship, so where's God?' Sam once asked. It didn't make much sense at the time but the sentiment was growing clearer to him, what sort of deity does this? God never intervened and faith was ebbing away. More souls passed to hell, for decadence was the only option for a world that no longer believed in paradise. Crowley was gaining more and more power and as a result, more demons walked the earth. Humanity was drowning in its sin, all Castiel could do was watch and it pained him more than anything he'd ever encountered. 

Yet when Dean Winchester fell, he commanded that Castiel raise him. It never became clear why, until he felt the man's soul. Castiel felt affinity in the burning self-hatred that Dean harboured, he shared the instinct to be good and save their family. They were burdened with destiny to save the world. And they had, multiple times and the inhabitants of Earth would never know, that irritated Castiel deep down. 

He was relieved when Dean began to trust him, and when he asked him for help. He'd felt at a loss for so long when he'd been shunned by him. Of course Castiel had always given him ammunition to be on high alert around him, what with letting him down at every opportunity. He thought that Dean would understand. When Castiel first laid hand on him, he absorbed every part of him, every memory and every flaw. The man had father issues right down to the bone, Castiel was desperate for him to understand, maybe because they were so alike or because they were bonded by experience, he didn't know. What he did know was that he needed Dean, like Dean needed him whether he liked it or not. The destiny card said that they'd save each other; Dean needed saving from himself, the burdens he carried were breaking his back. 

Castiel loved humanity, all its flaws as God had asked him and the others too, and wondered why Lucifer never could. He sometimes caught himself empathising with Lucifer, an angel fallen and cursed. An abomination, a name spat and cursed. Castiel was an angel who faced the same, the blood of his brothers and sisters stained his hands indefinitely, but God still loved him, God resurrected him despite his mistakes. 

What was so special about him that he was saved when so many other more deserving people and angels were still dead? Self-deprecation plagued him, he was not worthy, he was cursed and fraternised with things that no angel should... So why him? What did God want?


End file.
